


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by mildlySerendipitous (Irrisia)



Category: Homestuck, Nightside Series - Simon R. Green
Genre: Crossover, Jane is not John Taylor, Karkat is a client, Private Eyes, Tags for relationships and other characters will be added when they turn up, The Nightside stuff is basically just setting, There will be differences between the books and this fic, Urban Fantasy, but she is a Private Eye, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrisia/pseuds/mildlySerendipitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always 3am in the Nightside, the dark side of London where the party never ends no matter how much you might want it to. Jane Crocker, PI, takes on a case she really shouldn't have touched with a ten foot pole, and Karkat Vantas, alien refugee, is entirely to blame for the whole thing.</p>
<p>(Knowledge of books almost entirely unnecessary; I'm just stealing the general idea of the Nightside. Some of the details will be very different.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Wicked This Way Comes

My name is Jane Crocker, Private Eye. That's what it said on the door, anyway, in slightly peeling gold paint. I take on most cases, as long as I'm getting paid for them, and I almost never let a client down. Short, dark-haired, and usually described as cute by people who really should know better. It was 3am, and my latest potential client was sat opposite me, all grey skin and black hair and oversized black jumper. 

Don't assume I was there late, by the way; it's always 3am in the Nightside, where the party never ends and the dawn never arrives. Maybe that's why trolls feel so comfortable here. Alien refugees from another dimension, running from a sun going nova and the last remnants of a dying, decadent empire. Nothing new there. There's at least 5 species in the Nightside with that story behind them. Anyway, the point is, trolls are nocturnal and vicious and they fit right in like they own the place. Which is why the troll in front of me was something of a surprise. There's actually not that many of them running around, but the ones that are here tend to make names for themselves pretty quickly. Pretty much everyone knows of the Cobalt Thief, and the Heiress in Chains, even if it's only as a topic of idle gossip. In the right circles, they'll talk in hushed whispers of the Walker in the Light, or the Doomed Duo, or the Sleeping Bard. The others can be more esoteric, but there's always rumours. The White Scientist, Blind Justice, the Smith of Foal Street, the Hunter of Hearts, the Pupating Page; names to conjure with, sometimes. This one gave his name as Karkat Vantas, and nothing about him matched up to any of the tales, even the least of whispered hints, from his symbol to his horns to the way he nervously looked over his shoulder all the time and chewed his talons. Even their worst detractors will admit a troll never shows fear, but here one was in my office looking like the Hell Hounds were on his tail. I made a note to ask if they were; Hell Hounds are a real pain in the posterior and I try really hard to not have to deal with them these days. Not after that case, anyway.

"So, Mr Vantas," I said, trying to keep the whole thing professional. Professional is what I do, after all. Mostly. "How can I help you?"

He looked at me, gave me his full attention for the first time since he'd entered the room, and something desperate in his gaze showed through. "You've got... a reputation," he said. "I hope to whatever deities might possibly actually be bothered to listen right now it's true. Even if they are are your ridiculous grubsucking human deities."

Actually, most deities can't listen in to anything in my office. I keep some heavy protections on it, for many reasons, not least of which is the people who keep trying to kill me. Some of them are close to gods, and I find it really helps if they don't know what I'm up to, right up until I turn up and do it. It can get messy.

"That aside," I said, mostly patiently, "you said you had a case for me."

"I want you to look into something for me," he said, and sank further into his chair. "I want you... to find out who the Authorities are."

I whistled, involuntarily. The Authorities. Secret rulers of the Nightside, and generally powerful in their own right too. No-one in their right mind messes with them.

"Never mind," said the troll across the desk, and he pushed himself up to leave. "I should have known this was a nookblisteringly stupid idea when my past self came up with it. That guy is so retarded I don't know how he managed to survive long enough to become me. I'm surprised he didn't cough up his own digestive tract and choke on it as a grub."

"Wait," I said, before he could go. "I never said I wouldn't take the case. You just surprised me a little, that's all."

He sat back down. He was, in some regards, completely correct. Getting too close to the Authorities was a stupid plan, one only a desperate man would conceive. From my client's face, he was getting that desperate. Even under the grey skin, the bruises under his eyes were huge, and his face was gaunt and tired.

"Don't you still have contacts with the other trolls?" I asked, genuinely curious. The Cobalt Thief, in particular, was powerful enough to clash with a lot of people in the higher echelons of Nightside society, and a reputation for always getting away clean with whatever she set her heart on. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd decided that was information.

"No," he said, and hunched in on himself. "Most of them don't even know I'm here at all."

Well, that was interesting. Also possibly information he might want to keep to himself next time. I'm usually honest, but the Nightside is full of tricksters and liars, blackmailers and honest business men. Admitting that sort of thing was almost an invitation to some of them to hold it over his head and make him pay more than he could afford for a very long time. Either way, though, it wasn't immediately helpful, so I just made a note and put it to one side for now. Maybe later I could get the whole story out of him.

"Well then," I said, briskly, "I'll need some basic details. An address from you, and how much you're willing to pay for this information."

He named a sum. I shook my head, sure I was going deaf. He misinterpreted.

"I can't make it much more than that!" he said.

"Oh, no," I said hastily, "I was just... remembering if I'd got my spare hat back from the cleaners. That will be fine, Mr Vantas."

"Karkat," he snapped, and I remembered that trolls don't do that kind of title. Something to do with weird troll cultural things. So much for professional. Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed.

He gave me an address, and a phone number for an anonymous pay as you go phone he'd picked up and had exorcised and blessed just for this. I approved, silently. At least he wasn't completely out of touch with what passes for reality in the Nightside. Then I saw him out, picked up my trenchcoat and hat and headed off to dig up some info. First stop; the Four-Eyed Cat.

**Author's Note:**

> It seemed like a good idea at the time?
> 
> Anyway, Homestuck and all associated characters are copyright to Andrew Hussie, and the Nightside and all associated characters are copyright to Simon R. Green, and apologies to both of them for what I have done with their respective properties in this fic.


End file.
